


look at you (strawberry blond)

by localswordlesbian



Series: sweet tooth for you [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Gay Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Location: Alice "Daisy" Tonner's Scottish Safehouse, M/M, Post-Canon, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), basically it's post cannon, my goblin adventures continue, with a bunch of flashbacks to the scottish safehouse period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: Jon suddenly brings up the idea of returning to the Scottish Safehouse, years after the events that first happen there. That house holds a lot of memories, and perhaps this will be a sort of second chance...
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: sweet tooth for you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120133
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	look at you (strawberry blond)

“We should go back to Scotland.”

Martin turned his gaze from his book to look at Jon, whose head was resting in his lap. “What?”

Jon kept his eyes on his own book which he was holding out in front of him. “I was just thinking about it,” he mused. “It’s been a while since we were there, and I figured now that everything is over, perhaps we’ll have a nicer time this time around. We may even see more good cows,” he added with a wry smile.

Martin chuckled, running his fingers through Jon’s hair, twirling one of the light pink strands around one finger. “Should’ve known you only wanted to go for the cows,” he teased, and Jon laughed. “Seriously, though, what brought this on?”

Jon didn’t answer for a moment, as if contemplating the same question. “I suppose I was thinking… well, Daisy’s safehouse was the first time we were, ah, together? Together and not on the run, though that didn’t last long,” he added bitterly, and Martin’s heart ached. “I suppose I’d like to go back, perhaps give it another go, when we actually  _ do _ have all the time in the world.”

Martin considered this. He had loved Scotland, and the quaint little cottage that Daisy had used as a safehouse, where he and Jon had lain low after Jon had helped Martin escape from the clutches of the Lonely. He remembered the little village nearby fondly, with the cobblestone paths and small shops – he especially remembered the little tea shop run by an old lady who had always given him a little extra tea on top of whatever he bought. Grimly, he wondered whether she was still alive.

“Martin?”

Martin looked at Jon, who had closed his book and was looking up at him, a strand of his hair still curled around Martin’s finger. “You know what?” he said. “Let’s do it.”

_ The sounds of the train rattling along the tracks kept Martin awake as he stared out the window – raindrops ran down the glass, and Martin found him unable to tear his eyes as he watched two stream downwards. He was reminded of being a child, watching two raindrops race down the window of the school bus as he was on his way to school on the rainy mornings that were essential to the London experience. _

_ Some stray warmth was beginning to seep into his fingers where he was clutching them around a piping hot cup of tea, still steaming enough to fog up his glasses if he tried to take a sip. He tore his gaze from the window to stare, amazed at the sensation and how it seemed to hesitate, his hands not quite warm and certainly not hot, but almost as though a ghost of something comforting lingering just over his skin. _

_ He knew the tea was hot enough to burn him if he wasn’t careful, yet only the barest hint of warmth seemed to reach him. Still, it was progress. His fingers had been like ice since he and Jon had left London, as if some part of him desperately wanted to keep some part of the Lonely close to him even as he sped as far away from it as he possibly could. _

_ He turned his gaze back out the window, holding onto the feeling of warmth long after the tea had gone cold. He didn’t even bother to drink it. _

“It’s weird, coming here by car.”

Jon turned to look back at Martin as they walked up the small hill to Daisy’s cottage. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he mused. “Though it doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

He was right – the cottage was the same as it had been the last time they’d seen it, its red bricks as sturdy as ever despite being abandoned for a couple of years. As they walked inside, Martin could see that the interior hadn’t changed either – same shabby furniture, long-unused fireplace, cramped kitchen, and wooden shelves cluttered with more cobwebs than books.

Jon went to place his bag in the bedroom, but Martin stood in the living room for a long moment, letting himself take it all in. The cottage may not have changed, but there was something much heavier than dust hanging in the air, and Martin felt the familiar feeling of a painful nostalgia settle over him. The memories were almost tangible, and they hurt.

_ It had been almost a week, and Martin wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. _

_ He knew they were in Daisy’s safehouse to lay low, to hide from the consequences of freeing Martin from the Lonely. He knew Elias – Jonah – was searching for them, likely knew exactly where they were, and London was no longer safe for them. _

_ He also knew he and Jon were… something. He wasn’t entirely sure what to call them – were they boyfriends? Martin almost laughed at that. Somehow, the gravity of what they’d been through to get to this point made that question, that label, seem almost ridiculous. He’d nearly become a meal for the literal manifestation of loneliness, and now he had run away to Scotland with the man he’d been in love with for years and he was wondering whether they were boyfriends. _

_ He was standing in the kitchen, preparing two mugs of tea, the same way he’d been doing for the past few years. It had become such a force of habit that sometimes, after work, he’d caught himself accidentally making double the tea he needed. The memory brought a slight smile to his face as he poured the boiling water into the mugs and watched the steam curl up and vanish into the air. _

_ He heard footsteps behind him and turned in time to see Jon come out of the bedroom, his nose buried in a book. Martin felt a flutter in his chest, and he smiled as Jon looked up and met his eyes. “Tea?” _

_ Jon nodded, and Martin handed him one of the mugs before turning to finish his up. He hardly registered when Jon moved to get past him, muttering “Excuse me,” as he maneuvered into the small space, until he felt Jon’s hand on his back. _

_ Martin felt all of his muscles seize up as he flinched, hard. His hip hit the counter as a gasp escaped him at that contact, and although Jon moved his hand away immediately Martin could feel the phantom weight of it clinging, as though branded into him. _

_ The memory of touch, of casual touch, was so foreign to him now and he could hardly remember the last time someone had touched him of their own volition – had it been Tim, slinging his arm over Martin’s shoulders on their way out of the Institute for their weekly Friday night drinks? Or perhaps Sasha, touching her hand to his as he handed her a mug of tea, gently squeezing his fingers in thanks? Maybe even Melanie, placing a hand on his shoulder when he’d learned the news of Jon’s fate after the Unknowing? _

_ And then there was, of course, the Lonely, and even the months leading up to it. His work for Peter Lukas had involved distancing himself from everyone he’d known, making human connection a foreign concept in his own mind, forcing him to convince himself he liked it alone, that he didn’t crave the easy interaction most people could have with others, if only so that he could retain his sanity. That long without any sort of human contact – it was bound to damage a person. _

_ Martin, it seemed, was no exception. _

_ “Martin?” he heard Jon ask faintly, his ears ringing and his entire body shaking. “Martin, are you okay?” _

_ He slowly turned his head to where Jon was standing, in front of him but not touching him, his hands in front of him as though he wanted to reach out but was afraid to. Jon’s eyes were sad, and Martin hated seeing Jon sad. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. _

_ “No, you’re not,” Jon insisted. “I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I should have asked.” _

_ “It’s not your fault.” Feeling was coming back to Martin’s body, and he felt his shaking subside. He felt – off. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling of detachment that, although fading, left the feeling of Jon’s hand and an emptiness in his chest. _

_ “Martin,” Jon’s voice was soft as he said his name, and when Martin looked at him he saw a man with worry and compassion and love in his eyes, and he knew he wanted to be cared for the way he’d been caring for others for so many years. He looked down at Jon’s hands, unsure of how to form words. _

_ Turns out, he didn’t need to. Jon lifted his arms, and at Martin’s nod, wrapped him into a hug, and Martin let himself weep. _

“What are you thinking about?”

Martin was shaken out of his thoughts by Jon, who returned from the bedroom wearing a jumper that looked oddly familiar. “Just about the last time we were here,” Martin confessed. “Also, isn’t that my jumper?”

It definitely was – it hung loosely off of Jon’s thin frame, the sleeves ending well past the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon huffed. He walked over to where Martin was standing and slowly put his arms around Martin’s middle, giving him plenty of time to move away.

Martin didn’t move away, simply embraced Jon back. “You know,” he began. “For once, I’m really actually starting to see the progress I’ve made.” Jon hummed into his shoulder, and Martin continued. “Before, I couldn’t see it as clearly. It was hard to recognize where I started from, what with being in a completely new place in my life and how long it took to get there. But here, where it literally all began – god, I can still remember the first time you touched me, when you put your hand on my shoulder when I made you tea.”

“You nearly leapt out of your skin,” Jon said, his voice quiet.

“Yeah. It was terrifying, experiencing, I don’t know,  _ actual human contact _ after months – maybe years, even, completely isolated. And now… now here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” They were silent for a moment. “I’m proud of you, and I’m happy with the progress we’ve made.”

“Me too, Jon. Me too.”

_ The nearby town was really more of a village, Martin thought. After spending his entire life between the busy streets of London, this felt like something straight out of a cartoon, and although he knew it was typical of big city tourists, he couldn’t help but find it charming. _

_ He’d gone into town alone today, already having explored the area with Jon a few days prior and wanting to visit a couple of the shops on his own. _

_ The clouds hung a moisture in the sky that made the air around him feel thick, and Martin couldn’t help but shiver at how familiar it felt, and not because it was always raining in London. He decided to focus instead on what he could see – the weeds poking out from between the cobblestones under his feet, and people; lots of people, making their way into bakeries and grocery stores as well as little shops and stopping at stalls along the side of the street. Seeing all this life, this vibrant environment made as it was by the people made Martin smile a bit, and he finally drew a deep breath and kept walking. _

_ Finally, he saw the shop he was looking for, an unassuming spot near the market with flower baskets hanging from the edge of the roof. Smiling, Martin made his way inside and was greeted with the familiar scent of mixed tea leaves and old wood. _

_ An elderly woman sat in a chair by one of the walls displaying several different types of tea, and she looked up at the sound of the bell above the door being rung. She smiled at him and stood. “How can I help you?” _

_ Martin walked over to her, examining the stock on the shelves. “I was just hoping to buy some tea,” he explained. “Is there anything you’d recommend?” _

_ The old woman pondered this, seeming to look him up and down in a way that made Martin feel a little jumpy, like he was a specimen being studied under a microscope. The woman hobbled over to the shelf and lifted her cane to knock a bag of tea off the shelf. _

_ “Oh!” Martin exclaimed. “Let me get that.” He reached up and grabbed the bag she was poking, a bag of Black Cherry tea. “Thank you.” _

_ The old woman held her hand out for the bag, and Martin passed it to her. He watched as she rustled around under the counter, cursing under her breath as she pulled out a jar of what seemed to contain the same type of tea as was in the bag. She opened the bag and began scooping more in before closing it once it was filled to the brim. Then, she told him the price. _

_ He paid for it and took the bag, bewildered as to why she’d added more. “Thank you,” he said, almost hesitantly. _

_ The old woman smiled at him. “For that man of yours,” she explained. “You two came in here a few days ago.” _

_ Martin was surprised that she’d remembered, and the words “man of yours” caused a blush to creep up his cheeks. “Ah, yeah, um… yeah,” he said lamely, and the woman smiled. “Thank you,” he repeated. _

_ “Enjoy,” was all she said before returning to her chair, and Martin walked out of the shop. _

“Oh my god!” Martin exclaimed, a laugh escaping him. “They’re still here!”

Jon chuckled as Martin took off running up the hill, the wind from the sea stinging his face as he approached the fence, behind which stood several fluffy highland cows.

The pair had walked through town that morning, remembering their time spent there years ago. Martin had asked that they stop by the tea shop, and was unsurprised to find out that the old lady had since passed away, leaving the shop to her son. Despite knowing it was likely, Martin was saddened by the news. All in all, the town had remained as it had always been, quaint and buzzing with life.

Jon made his way up the hill, where Martin was already reaching out to pet one of the cows, a dark brown creature with fur covering its eyes. It let out a deep  _ moo _ as Martin wrapped his arms around its neck, burying his face in its fur.

“I really don’t think that’s sanitary,” Jon commented.

“Shut up, Jon.”

Jon chuckled before walking over, reaching out to pet the cow as well. The creature seemed delighted to be receiving all of this sudden attention, standing still while two random humans petted and hugged it. “This really does bring me back to the good parts of last time.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t all bad,” he mused. “Even when it was mostly bad.”

Jon laughed dryly. “Yes. I only wish it could have lasted longer.”

“Jon.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault.” Jon was deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the cow, his fingers buried in its fur. “I know that. I just – I do still wonder, sometimes. I feel that perhaps I didn’t take enough advantage of the time we  _ did _ have. Even at the Institute… I feel like such a fool, sometimes. It was all right in front of me, and I didn’t see it. And when I did see it, you were… gone.”

Martin watched him, sadness filling his heart and making his chest feel heavy. “I know. It’s a bit funny, actually. Thinking about it now. We could have had an incredible office romance, but instead we got trapped in our hell of a workplace by not one but two evil eldritch bosses. What a drag.”

Jon snorted. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Martin placed his hand over Jon’s, right on top of the cow’s head. The cow, for its part, didn’t seem to care that a deeply personal moment was going on – it still loved the attention. Martin could hardly blame it. “We have time now,” he said simply. “I know it’s… it’s easy to look back and see all the pieces you missed on the way to where you are now. But now we don’t need to worry about any of that, so let’s enjoy it, yeah? Not often you get a second chance.”

Jon smiled up at him. “You’re right.”

_ The day the world ended, Martin had been looking for the cows. _

_ He could still remember the moment it all changed, as though someone had flipped a switch and launched Martin into a realm of nightmares – in a way, that was exactly what  _ had _ happened. Martin’s first thought once he came to his senses was Jon. Racing back to the house, his heart pounding at the thought that Jon might be dead, that he might be gone, that Martin might return and find him– _

Years after the world ended, Martin stood in that tiny kitchen, preparing two mugs of Black Cherry tea while Jon washed the dishes from their dinner, humming a song Martin recognized but couldn’t remember the name of. When Jon needed to get past Martin, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and Martin would turn and smile at him. They’d share a quick kiss as they went about their chores, and once they were done they would sip their tea, put a record to play on Daisy’s beat up old record player, and enjoy each other’s company.

_ Martin could still feel the phantom hand on his back. He wondered if he’d ever feel like a person again _ .

Martin stood as an upbeat song played, holding his hand out to Jon, who accepted the invitation with a laugh that filled the room with lightness and joy and love. They danced until they were too tired to dance, collapsing onto the couch in fits of laughter, holding each other and not letting go.

_ He knew his days here were numbered. He knew they didn’t have forever. _

He knew they’d have to return soon, go back to London and back to work and back to the life they’d spent so long building for themselves. But they could enjoy themselves here in Scotland just a little longer.

_ He wished he could ask Jon how he was feeling. He wished he could remember how to interact, how to have a relationship with someone he cared about. He wished he could reach out, tell Jon how he felt. Ask him if he felt the same way. He knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would. _

That night, they were laying in their bed, about to go to sleep. Jon’s head was nestled on Martin’s chest, rising and falling with each of Martin’s breaths. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Jon speak. “Martin?”

“Hm?”

Jon paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

Martin craned his neck to look at his boyfriend. “What for?”

Jon shrugged, causing his shoulder to poke Martin’s. “I don’t know. All of it.”

Martin smiled. “You’re welcome, then. And thank you; you know, for all of it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They drifted off, safe in each other’s arms, knowing with full certainty that whatever the night brought, whatever horrors might resurface in the realm of dreams, that morning would come and they would be able to savour it for many more mornings to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea to write a post-cannon one shot fic of Jon and Martin returning to the safehouse years later as a sort of "redo" without the fear of Elias or ending the world. Then I decided to mix in some flashback scenes for angst purposes :)  
> Thank you to everyone who's read this fic or my other two in this series!! I absolutely love getting comments on them and it makes me so happy that people like them. Hopefully I can keep writing these cause they make me happy <3  
> Also go check out these pieces of art my friends made of my first fic of this series, rose-coloured boy!!   
> https://nwarrior777.tumblr.com/post/641228438951297024/read-amazing-fanfic-not-mine-about-martin-hair  
> https://bagginshield.tumblr.com/post/641068157351657472/rose-colored-boy-a-piece-for-this-wonderful


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